Idle Hands
by Lurker A
Summary: Inspired by a recent viewing of Baccano! and a lot of caffeine: Morris tells a story about his dealing with the devil he didn't believe in. If only his grandson was willing to listen. UPDATE: story on hold now.
1. Chapter 1

**Part I**

**_ "Robert hasn't seen The Princess Bride, so he wouldn't get the irony of this introduction."_**

**Cleveland, OH: 1993  
**

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Robert. How do we know this? Because that's the name his grandfather shouted as he climbed up the stairs with a walking cane in one hand and a big bowl of matzah ball soup in the other. "Robert!" He shouted, "Robert!" Why was he shouting the boy's name in this split-level house? Because he heard his grandson was sick, and wanted to cheer him up with some good food.

"Hello, my dear grandson!" The man shouted as he banged open the door with his good shoulder. "I have something you'll like."

Of course, Robert was a little sick, but he had overplayed that sickness to his parents so they would leave him alone with his brand new Sega Genesis, and his brand new Sonic the Hedgehog video game, while they went off to work. He couldn't be bothered to pay attention to his grandfather, and his grandfather was a bit miffed at that attitude.

"Grandpa Morris? Thanks. Just leave it over there." He nodded his head sideways, in the general direction of the nightstand. In another reality where his grandpa acquiesced to his wishes, the soup would have gone cold and Robert would eventually hit the pause button and grab himself a hot dog to toss in the microwave while his grandpa watched a re-run of The Price Is Right downstairs on the living room couch.

This wasn't that reality. In this reality, the grandpa dumped the contents of the matzah ball soup onto the game system, causing it to seize up and die from the amount of liquid and tiny bits of food that now flowed between its circuits.

"HEY!" Robert shouted, "What did you do that for?"

"Robert, you spend too much time on that _przeklęty_ game system!" Morris shouted in his Polish-accented English while banging his cane into the floor for added emphasis, though it was slightly muffled by the shag carpet. "Too much time losing yourself in stupid virtual fantasy world, not enough time in real ones!"

"C'mon Grandpa, there's nothing to do out there!"

"There is much wonder and amazement outside, you just not look for it at all! You have any idea what I had to do, some 60 years ago, for entertainment?"

Robert shrugged his shoulders. "You shot some Nazis?"

"What? No, no…we told stories, stories around the campfire! In between shooting of the Nazis."

"So what are you saying?"

"Well, you didn't seem to want my late wife's famous matzah ball soup." Robert did, in fact, want that soup. However, his attitude had cost him the most recent chance he had at eating it, though he blamed Grandpa Morris for his overreaction. "So instead, to make you feel better, I entertain you with great story."

"Do I hafta listen to this?" Robert pouted.

"Oh sure, ignore your old man who has seen and done more in teenage year than you have done in whole life so far! Here is how we begin…"

* * *

**Washington, DC: 1934**

"Huh, this Hitler fellow's got some interesting ideas about how to keep the economy going." Senator Burrie closed the newspaper as he found himself looking at a friend, "I tell ya, we could really use a guy like him as an ally against the Red Menace. You know what I mean?"

"Yes I do, Senator." The man nudged the frame of his glasses back up his nose. He wondered if he was going to have to pay for a new pair, again. He swore his eye doctor was purposefully doing shorting his prescription so he'd have to buy new ones from him every so often, but it didn't matter now. What mattered was the issue he had come with today. "Sir, about that…thing we discussed."

"Oh? Which thing?"

"The thing that involved a lot of effort by Jackson to prepare."

"Oh yes, the ship with our Peacemaker on board."

The man with the glasses hissed briefly.

"Sorry, sorry…yes, the maiden voyage of that ship is coming up soon, I hear. Is the project ready yet?"

"Ready enough for transport. Mr. Guinness will be making sure that no one interferes until it reaches the other side of the Atlantic."

"Oh? Well thank you." The Senator returned to reading his newspaper for a minute, and then pulled it away to see that the man with the glasses was still standing there. "What's wrong? I told you, you have my support."

"Senator, are you sure you want to go through with this? This is the last day to change your mind. After all, the nature of this device is..."

The Senator harrumphed, interrupting his guest's statement. "What's wrong, McHale? I didn't think a serviceman like you would go soft on me. Just tell me what you need and I'll make sure it gets there on time before the ship sets sail."

* * *

"Grandpa Morris?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"Were you the Senator?"

"No."

"So you were the man with the glasses?"

"No, but I did meet the guy once."

"So then why are you telling the story here?"

"Because it's a perspective you need to learn! Now shut up and let me continue."

* * *

**New York City, NY: 1934**

A rich couple was enjoying an "unofficial" intermission at the opera house as they stepped outside to take a smoke break. At least, that was their excuse, because in those days no one would really mind if they had just lit up a pipe in the middle of their box seat. In reality, they were feeling a little frisky at the time, they wanted to enjoy themselves a bit before their parents discovered their absence at intermission, so they ducked into a nearby broom closet, where they were sure no one would spot them.

Unfortunately for them, that closet was occupied by another couple who were also hiding in the very same broom closet, but for a different reason. A reason that involved cleaning a jammed Thompson sub machinegun, or Tommy Gun, or Chicago Typewriter. The first figure in the broom closet, a man with raven-black hair and a suit with a couple small bullet holes in it, happened to be making out with a redheaded girl who was only half-concentrating on fixing the jammed gun. As the rich couple had opened the closet, their brains took a few seconds to process what was transpiring in front of them.

The gentleman and the girl with the gun quickly yanked the rich couple into the closet with them and shut the door. A few heated words and a couple less-heated knife slashings later, the rich couple suddenly found themselves without their coats, their belongings, and their lives. It would probably take awhile before the janitor discovered the bodies, but for the time being the thrill-killers had claimed another couple of victims.

"Oh Julie Julie Julie, wouldja look at that?" The man spoke as he dug through the contents of the rich woman's purse with a long knife that happened to have a bit of blood on it. "Looks like the lady had some tickets to a different show in her purse."

"Oooh, 'a maiden voyage!'" Julie replied, "Whatever could that be, my dearest Romeo? A play? An opera? A musical? Maybe one of them nickel pictures?"

"Well, whatever it is, it's happening tomorrow, right here in New York! Something called the Neptune's Trident, and it's happening down at the pier!"

"Wow, sounds like a cruise! I always wanted to go on a cruise!"

"If it is a cruise, I bet'cha it's full of rich people, just beggin' for someone to relieve them of their…" Romeo stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and then spoke in a very high-toned accent, "…_mighty painful burdens of royalty_."

"Oh Romeo, let's go there."

"Indeed, we're gonna wait until we're in international waters baby, and then no one's gonna stop us!"

The two thrill-killers kissed each other and then danced off into the night, having forgotten all about the statement they were planning to make at that night's opera. On the other hand, when a janitor later discovered the two dead bodies hiding in his beloved broom closet, the statement would already find its way to the press.

* * *

"Who were those two guys?"

"They called themselves Romeo and Juliet."

"You mean like from that movie?"

"Movie?" Morris nearly choked on his own bile, "It was a play by Shakespeare!"

"Oh yeah, my English teacher said something about him. Kind of boring, though."

"_Uczą was nic w szkole? __Głupie dziecko.__"_

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"So where do you come in, Grandpa?"

"I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it…"

* * *

**Brooklyn, NY: 1934**

The bartender waved his hand as the last customer left for the night. Prohibition was finally dead, and everyone was drinking to their heart's content now that they didn't have to worry about being ringed by the cops for simply having a drink. Not like most of the cops here would do such a thing, but it really helped now that the establishment's survival didn't rely solely on mob ties and extortion to get by. It made the bartender slightly happier, because now he could get a little more sleep each night than before.

The bartender's head turned to the door as he saw a man in a suit step inside. "Sorry sir, we're closed for the night."

The man in the suit was panting heavily, as if he had just run a marathon to get all the way here. His pudgy face was all flushed red and he was wiping the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. "I'm looking for a Mr. Wick." He said.

"Sorry, Mr. Wick ain't here at this hour. Try again tomorrow."

"Tell him it's an emergency."

"What kind of emergency?"

"Look, I…oh God, oh God they're gonna skin me alive." The suited man stumbled forward, catching himself on the counter. The bartender poured him a glass of water and set it down next to him. "Look, I'm supposed to book the entertainment for this new cruise across the Atlantic…but the old crew, the ones that were supposed to do it? They got held up in California. Left for dead by the side of the road. And if I don't find someone who can play some kinda instrument for some rich people and get them to the pier before this thing takes off tomorrow, it'll be my ass on a silver platter."

"Well, I do see how that would be an issue."

"Look, just let me see Mr. Wick, I need to talk to him, see what kind of entertainment he can get on short notice."

The bartender drummed his fingers on the counter, trying to quickly weigh the pros and cons of waking up Mr. Wick for this man when an idea suddenly lit up in his mind. "Oh, I'll do you one better. I know a group who can pack up their belongings and leave in just a few hours...but just one question, does it pay well?"

"Does it pay?" The suited man scoffed. "Well, for being unofficial part of the crew, they get free food and shelter, and they'll get paid once the thing lands in Europe."

"Is that so? Well then, I think I know just the people who are looking for such a job."

"Really? You really mean it?"

"Of course I do, but they'll be a little different from the performers you're used to."

"Look, if they can play an instrument or sing better than a dead cat, I'll take 'em." The man took the glass of water sitting nearby and drank it all in just a few seconds. "Oh man, you're a lifesaver!"

The bartender chuckled as he reached for the phone hidden under the bar and began to dial a number. "Lifesaver? You do know what we serve here, right?"

* * *

"So you were a musician, Grandpa Morris?"

Morris shook his head. "I could do a little dancing in my youth, but never did get around to playing an instrument."

"So then you were the bartender?"

"Pshaw. I actually did something with my life."

"So then what were you?"

"I will tell you in a moment. We still have quite a bit of story to go…"

"This story is getting boring already."

"My grandson, just give it a chance. Good stories take time to develop...you can't expect them all to be good on the introduction."

Robert simply groaned and shoved his head deeper into his pillow. He dreaded listening to his grandpa tell some boring story, but at this point he didn't have much of a choice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

_**"Familiar and unfamiliar faces alike prepare to ride the **_**Neptune's Trident**_**."**_

**Pier 86, New York: 1934**

Several people were clustered around the pier as the morning sun rose high in the sky. Tourists were getting bilked out of their cash for everything from hot dogs to cheap toys sold at three times their worth.

One man in a brown suit tapped his foot rapidly. He had barely gotten any sleep last night, but he was too anxious after having to beg a local bartender to find him some musical talent for the ship, and as a bonus, he wouldn't have to be deeper in debt to Mr. Wick. He just hoped the bartender was willing to live up to his word, because he was running out of options.

"Excuse me, sir."

The suited man looked at the one addressing him then jumped back. A small group of black men holding large suitcases appeared in front of him. He suddenly began to sweat as he stammered out, "Hey, I-I-I don't have any money. I'm just waiting for someone."

The leader of the group took a deep breath. He had heard worse things in his career. "A friend told us that a Mister Foley was looking for a group of musicians on short notice to go on a cruise. He told us that Mister Foley would be waiting for us right here, to escort us to the ship, give us lodging and food, as long as we entertained the guests aboard the ship. You wouldn't happen to know where Mister Foley is, would you?"

The suited man did a double-take. "I'm Mister Foley. Who the hell are you?"

"We're the entertainment you requested." The leader said, "Name's Thomas Cotton, and behind me are my associates: Solomon, Joe and Toby."

"You're the entertainment?"

"We do odd jobs here and there, but the soul of our work lies in music. Do you want a demonstration?"

As much as he instinctively hated these people, Foley knew that if he told them to piss off he'd never find another group in time, and that would cut into his business if word got out that he stiffed them. Instead, Foley shook his head. "We don't have time for that. We gotta get on that ship now! We'll work out the details once we're on board."

"Well then, lead the way, good sir."

"You do have instruments with you?"

"We carry with us the instruments of our trade, yes."

"Good, then this won't be a total loss." Foley cursed the bartender, Mr. Wick, and God under his breath at the same time for sticking him in this situation. Here he was escorting a group of lazy, shiftless _negroes_ onto a cruise ship. He just hoped that they could play _something_, otherwise he would never live it down.

* * *

As Mr. Foley led the troupe up a service ramp, other figures were spread out along the pier, planning to board the cruise ship for their own reasons.

One man and woman only gave their names as "Romeo and Juliet," respectively. They each wore fancy clothes that appeared to have a few holes in them and carried large suitcases. A young red-haired man who took their tickets noted this immediately and then added, "Sir, you and the young lady don't seem to be at all like most members of your station."

Romeo glared at the ticket-taker for a bit, but strangely enough the red-haired man didn't seem intimidated by him at all. He replied in the most high-pitched voice he could muster, "I don't suppose they pay you to banter with those above your station, do they? Our tickets are legitimate, now let us pass!"

The red-head smiled and ripped off the ticket stubs for each of them. "You sure you don't need any help with your baggage, sir?"

"What we do with our belongings is none of your concern!" Juliet pouted.

"You folks don't do a very good job of hiding your true nature." The man handed back their ticket stubs without shifting his expression at all. "Enjoy the trip, hope it gives you time to relax."

Romeo and Juliet left in a huff, but when they were sure the man was out of sight Juliet dropped her accent and hissed at Romeo, "What just happened, Romeo? He saw right through us! I toldja we shoulda got some new clothes before we boarded the ship!"

"And spend good money on that? Oh no, Juliet, we got all the suits and we're gonna need and much, much more on this very ship!"

"Oh Romeo, I don't know if I can hold it in much longer. I just can't go this far without stabbing some kinda moneybags right between the eyes and..."

Romeo slammed Juliet into a wall and gave her a deep kiss to cut her off as another small group of passengers walked past them. "Careful now, Julie," he gasped as he broke the kiss. "Too many ears out here, wait until we get to our cabin. Then we can talk about how we're gonna go for the record on this trip!"

* * *

A short moment later, a young fellow wearing a green-tinted suit and matching hat was saying his goodbyes to a few friends and family. _Think of it as a vacation_, the Camorra messenger told him. _We need you to lie low for a little while._ Then he shoved a pair of tickets to the _Neptune's Trident_ into his hands and left. Considering the alternative response to his recent mistake, the young man was grateful for the chance to get on the boat. It was probably thanks to Maiza's intervention that they gave him this option at all.

"Now Firo," Maiza said as he wiped his glasses off with a cloth, "Don't give yourself away too easily. Until we find out who the rat is, we can't take chances with the possibility that a rival Camorrista or even the feds have infiltrated our organization."

Firo chuckled. "C'mon Maiza, it's a cruise ship! What, is the rat gonna grown gills and swim on board?"

Maiza shook his head, "Remember, your ancestors came to this country on a big ship as well, and they encountered a lot of hardship."

"I don't need a history lesson, pops…hey!" Firo winced as Maiza pushed down his hat with his hand.

"Respect your elders, boy. Just because you're immortal, it doesn't mean you're invincible. Be careful, but don't make it look like you're trying to be careful. We'll handle the search for the mole in our own organization." Maiza removed his hand from Firo's cap and waved goodbye. "Just enjoy yourself for now."

"Are you ready to go, Firo?" Firo turned his head to see a familiar red-headed woman wearing a masculine suit standing by the suitcase he brought with him. "The ship will be departing soon."

Firo waved back at Maiza and his associates as he went to meet up with the woman. "Ennis, you sure you don't need to bring anything?"

"What would I need to bring?" Ennis asked. "As far as I've heard, this is supposed to be a casual cruise, not an officially sanctioned mission."

"Well, it's just that…" Firo struggled to find a way to put his thoughts into words for a moment.

"Are you okay? Perhaps I could find some water for you?"

"I'm fine right now. But well…don't you have any other clothes or jewelry or something that you'd like to wear?"

Ennis thought on the question for a moment, before replying, "What's wrong with the clothes I'm wearing?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just that I thought you'd want something that looked a little more, y'know…girly or somethin'."

"And what constitutes 'girly' in your opinion?"

Firo's face turned red. Did she honestly expect him to know the answer to that? "Y'know…like…I mean…"

"You appear to be heating up." Ennis remarked in her monotone voice, "Stay here, I'll go find some water." She quickly darted off before Firo could finish his train of thought.

_Stupid stupid stupid!_ Firo quietly cursed at himself. If he kept acting like this with Ennis around, it was going to be a very long trip. But then he remembered something Maiza once said to him, "nothing ever worth doing ever comes easy.

A few minutes later, Ennis returned with a small cup of water. Firo downed it in one gulp and then tossed the cup onto the ground. "Alright Ennis, let's go." Firo grabbed one of the suitcases and was surprised to see Ennis carrying the second one before he reached for it. "Um, 'scuse me, but would you let me carry the suitcase?"

"Any particular reason?" Ennis asked.

"No, I'm just trying to be nice."

Ennis shrugged and handed the case to Firo's free hand. Firo thought he saw Ennis smile for a moment, but when he looked again, she remained stoic. The two of them walked up the ramp and Ennis handed the tickets to the red-haired man on top of the stairs.

"Ah, welcome aboard!" He said, "So, you two here for business or pleasure?"

"Yes." Firo replied.

"Both?"

"Does it matter what we're here for?"

"Sorry sir, just part of my job, didn't mean to be nosy." As he handed the ticket stubs back to the couple, he said, "You folks are staying in the lower deck. Best of luck."

* * *

Elsewhere on the pier, a man dressed in a weird mismatch of a kendo _hakama_ and a large black military jacket walked towards the ship with a pencil and a notebook in hand. A blonde girl followed closely behind him, herself dressed in a nun's habit.

"Hey Isaac, I have a question." The girl asked.

"What's that, Miria?" The man replied.

"Just wondering, what'cha writing there?"

Isaac looked at the pencil and paper in his hands, as if he had just discovered them. "Well, it's part of a new book I'm writing. I call it Sherlock Holmes: Vampire Hunter."

"Wow!" Miria hugged Issac excitedly. "What's it about? Tell me tell me tell me!"

"You see, it is inspired by the legendary author William Shakespeare, who told of a master detective who hunted down vampires with the help of the dashing young rogue Robin Hood. After a brief argument, the two of them team up and decide to hunt down the vampire named Vlad the Dracula who murdered Sherlock's parents a long time ago."

"That's amazing, Isaac! You're amazing!"

"Indeed."

"But Isaac, I have another question."

"What's that Miria?"

"Didn't someone already write a story with a guy named Sherlock Holmes and Robin Hood?"

"Of course, an Englishman by the name of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."

"So then, why are you writing his book over again?"

"Because if I can write something even better using the same characters, we'll be able to make tons of money off of it, thus proving ourselves to be masters of both word and deed when it comes to theft."

"Oh, I get it! So you're stealing the words right out of his mouth!"

"Indeed Miria. Just remember, if anyone asks, we're calling it 'fan-fiction.' Now let's go, our chariot awaits!"

"Chariot?"

"Indeed, a cruise ship, the chariot over the ocean. It's the perfect chance to finish my story and schmooze with the locals."

"Wow Isaac, that's so amazing! I always wanted to go on a cruise!"

"And the best part of all, we'll be running away from those angry policemen who managed to locate our previous stash!"

"Wow, so it's like a story about a daring escape, as the brave cowboy runs away from Indian Savages!"

"Of course! In fact, that's the title of my next chapter: Escape from the Indian Savages!"

"How amazing! I'm so inspired, Isaac!"

"Indeed, now let's use some of that inspiration and find ourselves a pair of tickets!"

* * *

**Cleveland, OH: 1993**

"Grandpa, I thought you said this was your story? How do you know all these people?"

"Some I knew personally." Morris replied., "But quite a bit of it comes from accounts that happened at the conclusion."

"Cool." Robert said. "So how does the story end?"

"You idiot!" Morris banged his cane into the floor again. "I told you before, you cannot expect everything to be revealed in the first part of the story!"

"_I don't care_."

"You very well should, idiot grandson. There's a part that concerns you as well!"

"But I wasn't even born then, Grandpa!"

"Perhaps, but the promise was made."

"What promise?" Robert sat up on the bed. "What does it have to do with me?"

"Oh, so now you care." Morris growled, "The truth is, I wasn't a passenger on the ship. I was a worker."

"You worked on a cruise ship back in 1934?"

"Well, child labor laws were not quite the same as they are today…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III**

_**"The Foreman has trust issues with uninvited guests**__**."**_

"Morris? Morris!" The burly foreman shouted as he stomped around the engine room. "Morris Janowicz, where in Yahweh's name are you?" He finally saw the teenage boy struggling to keep his eyes open, and to emphasize his point the foreman took a wrench from his belt and banged it on a pipe, mere centimeters from Morris' own head. Morris jolted awake instantly.

"Oh Morris," The foreman shook his head as he grumbled. "I don't know how you can sleep on a day like this. You should be thankful you even have a job on this crew!"

Morris rubbed his temples, "I am sorry, I spent so much of last night to study for this ship job!"

"Well, at least your English is good, I suppose you will not be lost if I were to throw you overboard right now."

"No!" Morris jumped up, "I cannot lose this job! Please do not send me back to my parents! They will kill me!"

"You want me to keep you here?" Morris nodded his head excitedly as the foreman gestured with a wrench towards a series of dials. "Then do your job! Watch these dials closely, and if any one of them slips into the red, you use this inter-phone here to inform the nearest worker, and make sure you speak up! You know what happens if too much pressure builds up, right?"

"A large boom?"

"It will make the sinking of the _Titanic_ like a child splashing in a puddle!" Morris nodded his head again to show he understood. This was one of the few times that the foreman felt like using subtlety to get his point across...well, subtle for _him_, anyway. "Good, you know what to do now I hope. If you take a break, you will tell someone else to take your position. Remember, it is going to be a long trip."

"Hey, 'scuse me." Someone called out from behind, "I'm looking for the foreman here?"

"What do you want?" The foreman spoke in a quieter tone as he and Morris both saw a young gentleman coming into view. Morris noted that the foreman was using his "outside voice," trying to appear presentable while he sized up the face of anyone he did not trust. The new speaker appeared to be a clean-faced pretty-boy, but wearing the outfit of a greasemonkey holding a very large monkey wrench in his hands. Something didn't match up.

"Hello there, sir." The pretty-boy spoke. "My name is Graham Spector, and I was told you were the one to talk to."

"About what?"

"Well, long story short, one of your friends was not able to make it up here, so he asked if I would pick up the slack for him. Uh…Mister Yanusz Smolenski?"

"Yanusz? What happened to him?"

"Well, let's just say he got a bit tied up, and asked if I would take his place on the ship."

"And how do you know Yanusz?"

"Let's just say we were…brief acquaintances."

"I do not trust you," the foreman growled, "You will leave the boiler room and you will do it now."

"Are you sure about that? I'm just offering to take the place of a man who got in a pinch, and I'm not even asking for more money or even a spot on your little chain gang. It would be in your best interest to accept this kind offer."

"You will leave the boiler room." The foreman paused for extra emphasis as he tightened his grip on his wrench. "Now."

"I can see you are under a lot of stress, good sir." Graham added a small, scratchy tone to his throat to make his speech drip with added maliciousness, though it was mostly smothered by the ambient noise of the room. It wouldn't have done much good anyway, as the foreman was not easily intimidated. "And you know what happens to stressful people working in dead-end jobs like this? Well, there's a chance that they might decide to throw a wrench in the gears just to blame the people above them. Or maybe they do it to release some of that pressure in their own heads."

Graham turned himself around, but did not move. He kept tapping the giant wrench against his shoulder. "Just as heat rises and cold sinks to the bottom…when tempers flare and something go wrong, the heat always rises to the top. But where do you think the cool hands of justice land? They never go after the highest. They come down on the lowest of society."

The foreman slowly walked towards Graham as he finally got the hint. "Just something to chew on as we make this voyage across the Atlantic. We'll meet again, I'm sure." With those words, he left the room.

"Why did you not trust him?" Morris asked the foreman after Graham left.

"Never trust anyone who says they do something for no pay." The foreman said without turning to face Morris, "There is always a price. But you should be more concerned with that dial. I go now to babysit someone else."

* * *

The red-haired man stepped inside his cabin and took a deep breath before he took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Man, I thought I was never gonna get a break." He spoke to the girl wearing a black dress who lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Boring, ain't it? It's boring for me too, my dear. Nothing like a good ol' fashioned train ride."

The girl abruptly tensed as she sat up on the bed.

"Relax, doll. I know you're as anxious to get off this boat as I am, but my brothers insisted that I take this job, and hey, it's a paycheck. Besides, you wanted to come with me didn't you?"

The girl frowned as her eyes went to the floor. The red-haired man gently grabbed her chin and tilted it up towards his face. "Hey, hey…don't be so sad. Just think of this as a trial run of our honeymoon when we do get married. When we finish this thing we'll be in Europe. It'll be the perfect place to hold our wedding. Flowers, cake…hell, maybe we could even see some family from the old country. You would like that wouldn't you?"

The girl he called Chane returned a quizzical look.

"Okay, I haven't really planned it out. But trust me, it'll be a wedding to remember when we do get things started." The man gave her a kiss on the lips and held it for a few seconds, and then put his cap back on. "I gotta go, duty calls for now. But I'll see you soon, Chane." The man turned to leave the small cabin, but Chane rapidly tapped him on the shoulder. "What? No, you don't have to stay in here. Go ahead, mingle, enjoy yourself. There's a whole ship to explore. And you look so pretty the passengers won't suspect a thing. I'll catch up with you later."

* * *

Meanwhile, on the deck of the ship, the higher-class passengers were scurrying to and fro, trying to get their luggage sorted with the help of the crew who struggled to meet everyone's need. Despite the frantic emotions in the air, a man in a clean white suit and a fancy cap walked onto the deck with a strange aura of command. This man, with the name badge of Spaulding, was Captain of the ship, and even if people didn't know it before, they would recognize his authority by sight alone. The various crewmembers who took the time to notice gave a brief salute and an utterance of "sir!" before returning to their work.

Behind him scurried a first mate, in a slightly wrinkled but still serviceable white uniform with the name tag reading "Halderman" affixed to his lapel and a slightly smaller cap on his head. He was rattling off various statistics that the captain only half-listened to, but the gist of it was familiar: "crew understaffed, overworked, but within acceptable conditions to prepare for launch." The captain simply nodded as he greeted different members of the crew and passengers as he walked around the deck.

"Sir, if I may ask an unrelated question?" Halderman tugged on the captain's sleeve like a little boy.

"Go ahead." Spaulding replied, not once stopping to look him in the eye as he did so.

"Why did they call it the _Neptune's Trident, _sir?" Halderman asked. "I mean, it seems a bit much for a passenger vessel."

"Well, I'm not too keen on the details," The captain responded as he leaned over the side and waved to the people on the pier. "But I heard a rumor that this was originally designed as a battleship."

"A battleship?"

"Yes, a battleship in service of the US Navy. But apparently the government cancelled the project halfway through. Not sure why they did, but the rumors say that some company called Nebula picked up the plans and finished what was built of the ship beforehand, and added their own little touches to make this a little more welcoming to the passengers on board."

"Oh, I was wondering why—"

The Captain finally turned around a patted his first mate hard on the shoulder. "Don't worry yourself to hard, you don't want us to appear afraid before we even set sail, do you? It's bad luck in these times."

The first mate mumbled to himself, "I'm sure the crew on the _Titanic_ said the same thing."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Son, go down to the bar and get yourself a drink."

"But sir…"

"Captain's Orders...just not too much." Spaulding made that statement with a good-natured smile that Halderman couldn't possibly turn him down. Instead, he just nodded and decided to put away his notes for now.

Spaulding watched him go back into the ship, then made his way to the bridge and spoke to his navigator, "Is our course laid out?"

"Yes sir," the navigator replied, "Just need to make a few adjustments and we'll be all ready to go."

* * *

On one of the more upper-class passenger decks, Mister Foley finally found his room with the help of a bellhop who seemed trained to have no personality whatsoever. It was enough to take his mind off of the fact that he was currently escorting a pack of black folks dressed in cheap suits and carrying large cases with instruments in them.

It seemed so beneath him to be doing this, but it was too late for second thoughts. The important thing was making sure he was as far away as he could be from Mr. Wick and his own debt to him as possible. Once the ship set sail, then he could relax.

"Ya seem a bit tense there, sirrah." One of the men behind him spoke, shaking a flask in his hand. "You wanna sip to calm down?"

"N-no thank you."

"It's nothing bad, just a little whiskey."

"Come now, Toby." Thomas Cotton spoke up, "The man's just got up here. Let's rest our feet before we start making noise with everyone here."

"If you say so, Tommy." Toby screwed the cap back on his flask and put it back in his pocket.

The bellhop finally stopped and opened the door. "Here's your room, sirs." He gestured inside without stepping in. "We've made sure it is just big enough to fit all of you. Will you be needing any help with the luggage?"

Foley was about to speak, but one of the performers behind him spoke first, "No, we can deal with them on our own."

The bellhop coughed loudly and held out his hand.

"Of course," Foley grumbled, shoving a few coins into his hand, "Now skedaddle!" After the bellhop left, Foley looked into the room they had given the band to use, and shook his head. "Son of a bitch!"


End file.
